


where even is home

by hopelegacy



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Dancing, Fluff and Angst, Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung is Whipped, Kim Jungwoo (NCT) is Whipped, M/M, Soft Kim Jungwoo (NCT), Some Social Media, The Proposal AU, i only tagged these ten but ot21 are all mentioned or show up at some point, somewhat a little, they're all quite famous dancers, this is actually nothing like The Proposal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-04-23 14:47:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19153192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopelegacy/pseuds/hopelegacy
Summary: Jungwoo finds out one already miserable Thursday morning that he’s in serious danger of being deported.“Like to Korea ?” Yuta and Jaehyun both say and--seriously--“No, dumbasses, back to Botswana where I was born and raised-- yes to Korea are you serious-- ”But at least he has Doyoung, with his sweet, bright smile and his soft hands, here with him. And the rest of them too. Of course.





	1. who the hell is holding the reigns

**Author's Note:**

> nothing about immigration is accurate here, so i'm sorry about that in advance :)  
> just enjoy some pure dowoo and dancing and a little angst :)))  
> drop a comment & kudos if you feel like it, love y'all
> 
> for a list of which people are in which dance crew, see the notes end of the work

Jungwoo knows exactly how he got here, lying face down in the floor of a Starbucks with way-too-hot coffee covering almost the entirety of the front of his white shirt.

Fucking Yuta Nakamoto. This is his fault.

Nine of them had been sitting (or some version of “sitting”) in a circle on the polished wood floors of their dance studio at seven in the morning, unable to motivate themselves into getting off their asses and starting rehearsal. Honestly, for an elite dance crew, they were lazy and the nation knew it. Ten’s legs were across Kun’s lap and his head was on top of Johnny’s calves. Taeyong’s head was on Taeil’s shoulder, and Jungwoo had been nearly positive that, despite the fact that they were sitting up, they were both actually dead asleep. Doyoung was...Doyoung, his head resting on his knees and his arms wrapped around his own legs, hands invisible under his too-long sleeves. His hair fell into drooping eyes, and yet he was clearly still listening attentively to Sicheng, who was talking about...something to do with his younger cousins.

Honestly, not many of the details from that morning were clear apart from Doyoung. Doyoung’s face and his soft, sleepy smile really were all that registered sharply in Jungwoo’s mind that morning.

Before Yuta.

He had burst in the door, eyes trained sharply on Jungwoo and proclaiming loudly, “Jungwoo is getting coffee today.”

“Excuse you? What?”

“What?”

“Why?”

A chorus of questions arose from the group, Jungwoo’s the loudest among them.

“Everyone else here has gotten it over the past few weeks, it’s Jungwoo’s turn.”

“What...Sicheng hasn’t either?” Jungwoo said, pointing.

Sicheng tossed a sharp look at Jungwoo for calling him out, but Jungwoo didn’t look over.

“But Sicheng is too cute to lug ten coffees down six blocks, so.” Yuta said this with finality as he forcefully shoved his way to sit between Jaehyun and Sicheng. He leaned back on his hands, smirking.

“Jungwoo is cute too?” Doyoung said, and Jungwoo whipped his head around to stare at him as Ten quickly protested, “And you still made  _ me  _ do it last week???”

Jungwoo’s gaze was pulled from Doyoung (who was avoiding his eyes) when Yuta leaned over and plucked his wallet out from the back pocket of his jeans, dropping it on the floor in front of Jungwoo’s face. “Winwinie doesn’t even have his wallet today.”

Pulling himself up onto his knees, Jungwoo was about to acquiesce at that until Jaehyun casually pointed out, “Yes he does? It’s right there in--”

He cut himself off as he got a sharp-elbowed jab in his ribs from Yuta on his right.

Jungwoo pulled himself to his feet, bending in half again to pick up his wallet from the floor. He shot a resigned look in Yuta’s direction, who simply beamed a large, admittedly cute but still wholly evil, smile at him.

As he had been close to walking out of the door, he heard Taeyong urge, “Alright, everyone, get up. Let’s start stretching.”

On the six-block walk to Starbucks, two _different_ people had run shoulder-first into Jungwoo hard enough, it felt, to leave bruises. And another person had stopped him to ask how to get to the Golden Gate Bridge, which--they’re in _Chicago._ Jungwoo honestly hadn’t known what to say back, and instead had stood there nursing his sore left arm while looking at him as if he were insane.

The man had mumbled “whatever, punk” and speedwalked past him. 

At Starbucks, Jungwoo had finished ordering all ten orders, and when he picked up the drinks painstakingly (one tray in the crook of his right elbow, one tray in his right hand, and one tray in his left) someone else had slipped on spilled water behind him, knocked into Jungwoo, and sent him sprawling across the floor.

And here he is, too many seconds later, trying not to scream from the coffee burning his torso. 

“Holy shit,” someone says. “Holy shit, I am so sorry.”

Jungwoo, although irritated to no end at his shitty morning, is too nice to be angry. “It’s okay,” he says as he rolls over. “I’m--fine.” He looks down at his ruined white shirt and winces. “It’s really fine.”

“No, I’m--” When she turns back around from grabbing a dozen napkins from the island behind her, she promptly drops all of the napkins on the floor again. “Oh my god, you’re Jungwoo!”

Jungwoo resists the urge to put his face in his hands and scream. He doesn’t get recognized often, and he usually appreciates it when he does, but holy shit,  _ now _ ? “Yeah,” he says. 

“From NCT?” she confirms.

“Yeah,” he says again.

“Woah.”

“Woah.”

“Can I get a picture?”

Jungwoo looks down once again at his horribly stained white shirt and thinks about his makeup-less face. And his hair that can’t possibly look any good after everything he’s been through this morning. “Uh...sure.”

A Starbucks employee has approached with a mop and a mildly annoyed, mildly pitying look on their face just as the fan pulls out her phone for a selfie.

“Can I get another of...this?” Jungwoo asks the employee sorrowfully. “I’ll pay for it all again, don’t worry.”

“No, no,” they say to him. “Just come to the register and re-order everything, we’ll make it again for you for free.”

“Are you sure, though? It’s a lot of drinks…”

“I mean, the mess here is our fault, we didn’t clean up the water soon enough, we’ll make it all again for you, no worries.” They smile at Jungwoo, but the smile is immediately gone as they switch their gaze to the rapidly growing pool of coffee and whipped cream on the floor.

“I--thank you? Thank you so--” Jungwoo turns to see the fan still standing there, looking anxious and impatient. “Oh, I’m sorry. Yeah, here--”

Jungwoo kindly takes the phone from her and opens up the front camera to find himself looking absolutely atrocious. With no way to fix this in any short amount of time at a Starbucks six blocks away from his studio, he resigns himself to this look ending up on the internet at 7:30 in the morning on a Thursday. He snaps the photo, trying to look as happy to see his fan as he can.

“Thank you so much!” she says happily. She nearly slips again on the pool of coffee as she jumps backward a little. Jungwoo hurriedly grabs her elbows to keep her from falling over as the employee doing the mopping glares up at her. “You and your crew are amazing, my little sister looks up to you guys so much, she’ll be so psyched that I saw you here this morning!”

And fuck, that gets him. “Does your sister dance?” he asks.

“Yes! She started because of Ten, actually, your member?” she says, as if Jungwoo needs clarifying. “But she loves all of you, she never stops watching your YouTube and competition videos. Anyway, I really have to get going--thank you for taking a picture with me!”

Jungwoo winces as she nearly slips again on her way out. “No problem,” he says.

When Jungwoo gets all ten drinks re-ordered, he already has six messages on his phone from the guys, asking what the hell is taking him so long. Taeil, the worrier, actually asks if he’s okay or needs help.

_ i’m okay _ , he texts Taeil back.  _ i’ll be like 20 more mins _

He waits nearly ten of those minutes for the drinks again, and then he’s finally on his way back to the studio, all three trays rested precariously on his arms and hands.

_ If this is what all the others had to go through _ , he thinks,  _ I get why they never want to do it again _ . That, and the hefty price of ten drinks from Starbucks at once.

One more person nearly collides their shoulder with Jungwoo on his way back, but Jungwoo swerves and bends so far over to avoid it that he’s shocked when he stands back up that none of the drinks had fallen out of their trays and spilled all over his shoes. He’s so impressed with himself that he has to stop dead on the sidewalk for a moment to appreciate his own talent.

A block away from the studio, Jungwoo begins walking across the street when the pedestrian light turns green, only to be nearly run over by a cyclist instead. Jungwoo jumps forward as the cyclist rushes past him without a word, and he feels the wind from the cyclist’s speed on his back from the near-miss. His heart pounds in his chest.

He can see the studio from here, though, and can’t imagine the morning going any more wrong than it already has. So he takes a deep breath and lugs the ten coffees the rest of the way.

“That took  _ so  _ long, are you kidding--what the fuck happened,” Ten stops dead, staring at Jungwoo. Or, more accurately, at Jungwoo’s now see-through, stained-brown white shirt.

Kun and Doyoung rush forward to help him set down the trays of coffee on the table next to their sound station.

“Everything,” Jungwoo moans back. He can’t help but bounce on his feet a little petulantly as he says it. He shoots a withering glare at Yuta for starting this. Yuta, the asshole, barely, just  _ barely  _ looks a little pitying.

Jungwoo grabs his black sweatshirt off the floor in front of the mirror and heads to the bathroom with the intention of cleaning the coffee off of his torso and changing his shirt when his phone rings in his pocket. He sighs, exhausted, as he pulls it out and checks the caller ID.

_ Mr. Williams, IO _

“Oh shit, finally!” Jungwoo says out loud. He stops and leans on the wall, swiping his phone to answer. He had been expecting this call for  _ months _ , and the relief he feels finally getting it nearly has him on the floor.

“Hello, this is Jungwoo,” he says as politely as he can.

“Mr. Kim? I just had a few things I needed to inform you of.” Mr. Williams’ low, southern-accented voice had always made Jungwoo a little nervous, but his tone of voice sets him on edge this time. It’s pleasant, but...a little too pleasant.

“Okay? Okay. Inform me of what?”

“I see that you graduated university early, December of 2018? You do know that this invalidates your student visa that was supposed to have been valid through June of 2019, correct?”

Panic creeps up through Jungwoo’s chest, sharp and tangible. “Yes? I applied for a work visa in August when I decided I would be graduating early. I do have a job now.” His voice is getting higher in pitch, and his obvious worry has caught the attention of his members, who are all creeping closer to him on the opposite side of the room.

“You…” Mr. Williams trails off, and Jungwoo hears frantic typing on a keyboard. Frantic typing on a keyboard  _ cannot  _ be good. His members are all gathered around him now, and while he appreciates the effort at comforting him it’s overwhelming and making him more nervous. “It doesn’t say anywhere here that you applied for a work visa in August.”

“It  _ what _ ? I  _ remember  _ hitting submit, I even have a lengthy email from Immigrations telling me I would receive a letter in the mail in three to five months with further information. Which--it’s been  _ eight  _ months and--”

“I’m sorry, I don’t have any record of your application here. I could get you in my office and you could show me your proof of application, but it still would not be proof of currently owning a visa.”

_ No _ , Jungwoo thinks.  _ I did everything right. I applied for a visa with plenty of time before my student one expired. This isn’t my fault.  _ His breaths speed up in his chest and he clutches at it through his coffee-soaked shirt. Johnny raises a hand to rest on Jungwoo’s shoulder, trying to coax him to slow it down.

“But I--” Jungwoo starts, but Mr. Williams continues, “This technically means you are living here illegally and Immigrations is likely to deport you if you don’t get this figured out quickly.”

“They’re likely to  _ what _ ?”

Jungwoo moves from clutching at his shirt up to clutching harshly at his hair as Mr. Williams says, “If you don’t have an approved work visa or some other legal way of staying in the country such as actual citizenship by June first, you’ll be sent back to South Korea.”

Colors float in front of Jungwoo’s eyes from squeezing them shut so tightly. He shakes his head. 

“Now, you could still apply for a work visa again while you’re there, but it’s an even longer process when you don’t already live in the US, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

It had taken Jungwoo more than a year to get his student visa, and Jungwoo had applied when he was still nearly two years out from graduating high school just to make sure he was able to get it in time for university to begin in the fall. So yeah, he’s aware. He’s also aware it’s not easy to get one from within the US, but it’s still much faster.

He had wrongfully put his faith in nothing going wrong. And they hadn’t even received his application.

He wants to say,  _ Do you know who I am? _ He’s part of the most successful dance crew in North America; they’ve won 21 golds in a row. They have actual big-brand sponsors, they sell out shows, they have fans who recognize them on the streets. At  _ Starbucks _ . He can’t be  _ deported _ \--he did nothing wrong, he even applied what should’ve been in time for a new visa. Going back to Korea would mean missing competitions, shows, and countless rehearsals. It would mean not seeing his members or the other friends he’s made--the kids would be so upset if he had to leave--Jaemin and Jisung and Hyuck and Chenle and Yangyang and Renjun and Jeno and-- _ oh my god _ \--

He doesn’t hate Korea, he doesn’t, his family is there, his two sweet dogs are still there, the food there is so much better, but--everything  _ here _ \-- _ everything _ \--

“Jungwoo, Jungwoo, Jungwoo,  _ calm down _ ,” Doyoung says to him in Korean. “ _ Please breathe. Okay? _ ” Doyoung takes his left hand and gently pries it from his strong grip on his hair. “ _ Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. All of us. _ ”

“ _ Yeah _ ,” Taeyong pipes in, crouching down to where--holy shit, Jungwoo had slid down to the floor at some point. “ _ It’ll be okay. _ ”

Jungwoo sucks in a deep breath that burns through his lungs. Doyoung grips his left hand, fingers interlocking.

“I’m really sorry about this,” Mr. Williams says. And although Jungwoo hadn’t spoken all that much to his immigration officer over the past four years, Jungwoo can hear the sincerity in his voice. “I would change it if I could. I believe you when you say you applied in August. I’ll do what I can, but…”

Yeah, Jungwoo thinks. Mr. Williams can’t change the law any more than Jungwoo can.

“Thank you,” Jungwoo croaks out, not feeling thankful at all for this situation, but feeling thankful that he ended up with a half-decent immigration officer.

“It’ll be okay, kid. Even if you do get deported--it’s not permanent. I have faith you’ll get your visa or your citizenship and come back.”

Jungwoo had marginal faith in the government before, too, that they could at least get this right. But--he’s not feeling so generous toward them now.

“Thank you,” he says again, less genuinely.

Mr. Williams takes it as the dismissal it is. “I’ll call you again soon.” He hangs up.

Jungwoo lets his phone slide from his hand, and it clatters onto the polished wooden floor. All he can see is his members’ legs and Doyoung’s face directly in front of him.

“What happened?” Taeil asks softly. “What can we do?”

Jungwoo runs his now-free right hand through his hair, still struggling to take even breaths. “That was my immigration officer.”

Sicheng crouches too. “What did he say?”

“I’m...probably going to get deported in June.”

“You’re  _ what _ ?” four of them say at once.

“Like to  _ Korea _ ?” Yuta and Jaehyun both say and--seriously--

“No, dumbasses, back to  _ Botswana _ where I was born and raised-- _ yes to Korea are you serious-- _ ”

“Okay okay okay,” Taeyong says. “Is there no way to fix this? Like apply for another visa? Wait--I thought you already had one--”

“I applied for another one back in August and my IO just told me they never received the application, so I’ve technically been living here illegally since  _ January _ , and the whole time they thought I never even  _ tried  _ to fix it--”

“Woah, so this isn’t even your fault? You’re sure you applied?”

“Yes, I’m sure I--I even have an email to prove it!”

“Then how can they deport you?” Kun protests. “This is their fault, not yours--”

“I don’t know! I don’t know, okay, I guess that’s just the beauty of the American government-- _ holy shit I can’t believe this is happening right now I seriously hate everything about this--fuck, I’m hungry-- _ ” he rambles in Korean under his breath into his knees, not even sure what he’s saying anymore before Doyoung interrupts him.

“Do you think just rehearsing will help? I know dancing helps you relieve stress. Maybe we can put off thinking about this for just a little longer.”

And, Jesus, that sounds so nice. Especially coming out of Doyoung’s mouth.

“I think...yeah. Let’s just...get on with rehearsal. I think that’ll help.”

The room is dead silent for a solid couple of moments. 

“Okay.” Taeyong claps his hands together. “I guess let’s get stretching. Again.”

“Go and clean up,” Doyoung tells him softly as the others move toward the center of the room. Music starts up, and Jungwoo can feel it in his fingertips on the floor. “We’ll start in a minute.”

Jungwoo nods his head, and he realizes he’s still shaking. Doyoung smiles at him, and his eyes practically sparkle.

Jungwoo’s knees feel weak, but he gets up and heads for the bathroom anyway. He feels Doyoung watching over him the entire time.

***

Four days and one meeting with Mr. Williams face-to-face later, Jungwoo’s nervous energy still will not let him live, but he’s nowhere near as panicked as before. He finds out that, with proof of his application eight months ago, Mr. Williams has a lot of power to speed up the reapplication process for a work visa. He learns that, if he doesn’t get his work visa by June 1st--only a month and a half away--he can simply leave for Korea before getting formally deported and that would make his case look much better in the eyes of Immigrations.

(“Not that it looks bad at all right now,” Mr. Williams had told him during the meeting. “You’re really doing everything right. You graduated university and you’re working hard now, too.”

Jungwoo had been surprised by how much more kind-hearted Mr. Williams was than he remembered. But he spots a picture of his wife on his desk, with her dark hair and dark skin and bright, beautiful smile, and thinks maybe he understands.)

He learns that both he and Mr. Williams had somewhat been panicking on the phone four days ago, so the situation had been blown out of proportion. So, while it’s still not necessarily  _ good _ , he isn’t exactly in danger of being detained by the US Army and forcefully dragged out of the country away from his 20 friends and his career, like his brain had wanted to make him believe then.

If he ends up having to leave for too long in June or over the summer, though, he’ll miss a hell of a lot here in the US. Lots of shows, two of which are already sold out; all of the rehearsals; plenty of competitions. Scheduled brand promotions where all ten of them are supposed to show up.

Even a couple of variety shows.

The thought of missing them makes Jungwoo unbearably sad, so it makes him even more frantic to do everything he can to fix this entire situation. He spent a lot of time over the past four days on the phone with Mr. Williams or on his laptop, researching ways to make his case more appealing to Immigrations so they can get him his visa soon. He had even filled out and submitted his reapplication while sitting in Mr. Williams’ office with Mr. Williams as a witness, just in case the confirmation email he gets isn’t enough.

They do a livestream on Monday night, and Jungwoo shows up halfway through with heaps of food. It was an excuse for Jungwoo’s absence; he really had been on the phone with Mr. Williams again, frantically making sure everything he could do for now was done. His immigration officer had repeatedly reassured him that yes, everything was in order, and there was nothing more he could do at the moment.

So Jungwoo vows to try and relax, and to have a good time with his members and his fans for what remains of the livestream tonight.

“Eyyyyyyy!” They all shout at him as he steps through the door behind the camera. Taeyong stands up to rid him of the burden of a few of the bags of food. They had settled on a small Chinese takeout mukbang for the night, and Jungwoo dug around one of the bags for all of the pairs of chopsticks before passing them out to his members.

“Help yourselves,” he said, before remembering how hungry he was himself. He immediately snatched one of the containers with fried noodles and chicken and pulled it toward his body, right out from under Yuta’s grabby hands. Both Yuta’s venomous glare and Jungwoo’s triumphant smirk were caught on the livestream.

“You better pay me back for this,” Jungwoo says in a moment of silence fifteen minutes later. “I just bought all nine of you coffee, like, a few days ago.”

“Tough luck,” Ten replies, waving his chopsticks at Jungwoo. “You snooze you lose.”

“Snooze? You guys chose me to buy food so I left and did it?”

“Ah, you were late, so you had to buy,” Yuta pipes up, the asshole.

“Kun and Jaehyun were late too, though?”

Ten shakes his head. “That’s not how it works.”

“Not how  _ what  _ works?”

Minutes later, he sees a comment saying  _ rip ur bank account jungwoo _ and honestly, it kind of makes him feel better.

***

“ _ Yeah, Mom, I’ll let you know. _ ”

“ _ And be safe! When you’re famous you’re in more danger.” _

_ “I’m not famous, Mom, I’m just… _ ”

“ _ You’re just famous, honey. Have fun in your interview later today. Watch what you say, you don’t want people finding out about-- _ ”

“ _ Of course I won’t say anything about this, Mom, I’m not--thank you for your advice. Love you.” _

“ _ Love you.” _

“ _ Bye.” _

“ _ Bye.” _

Despite how the conversation dragged on and turned into a mini nagging session, Jungwoo feels like he can breathe better after hanging up with his mom, who had been worrying palpably all the way from Seoul.

Jungwoo lies on his bed face-up and does just that--breathes. The sun is beaming in from the blinds he had opened an hour before; he can hear people bustling outside his apartment from all sides. It’s perfect. He loves his small apartment, with only a tiny makeshift kitchen, a bathroom, and a bedroom. It’s cozy and arguably inexpensive, allowing Jungwoo to save his money to pay for other things he likes--and food and drinks for NCT.

He’s worked hard for his place here; he’s not giving it up so easily.

It’s sort of a day off for the members of NCT--they had agreed that there would be no rehearsal today due to the big livestreamed interview coming up later, so Jungwoo had ample time to figure out what he was going to wear. He calls the least likely person to be helpful with fashion for help: Sicheng.

“Jungwoo?” Sicheng says when he picks up.

“Hey, you busy today? I’m going to go out and try to buy clothes to wear for the interview later.”

“Oh--you don’t even know what you’re wearing yet?”

“No, can you help me?”

“Ten chose my clothes for me, why wouldn’t you call him?”

“I  _ know  _ Ten is out with Hendery today.”

“Sorry, Jungwoo, I’m out with Yuta today. Good luck with the clothes, though. I’ll see you later.” There’s brief a muffled struggle through the receiver and a few yelps before Jungwoo hears Yuta pipe in, “Doyoung isn’t busy today!”

Jungwoo closes his eyes. “Okay.”

“Call him! He’s _ sad  _ and  _ lonely  _ without you there with--”

Another yelp and a mild crash later, and Sicheng says, “Gotta go! That’s a good idea though! Call Doyoung!” And he hangs up.

Jungwoo pulls his phone from his ear and stares at the list of recent calls left on his screen in the wake of Sicheng’s abrupt ending to their conversation. He notices how most of them say either  _ 엄마   _ or  _ Mr. Williams, IO _ and realizes he really needs to make more time to spend with his friends. He sighs and pulls up his contacts, finding Doyoung. It takes him a few minutes to work up the nerve--which is ridiculous--but eventually he presses call.

Doyoung, thankfully, picks up on the first ring. “What’s going on?”

“Do you want to go shopping with me for clothes? For the live interview later?”

Doyoung laughs softly. “Why me? And not someone more fashionable like Ten or Tae?”

Jungwoo almost says  _ Yuta told me to ask you _ , but he chokes as he stops himself. He figures it’s a good time to just make it seem as though Jungwoo needed him around--because he does. He’s just nervous. “I don’t know, I was just hoping you would like to?”

There’s a lengthy pause, and Doyoung’s voice sounds strangely rough when he says, “I’ll meet you at Walmart?”

Jungwoo laughs large and loud. Doyoung knows him too well.

***

Jungwoo is sitting cross-legged on a bench in front of the closest Walmart, scrolling through some fans’ tweets on Twitter when he looks up and Doyoung is right there, casting a shadow over Jungwoo and turning his own upper body into a silhouette. All Jungwoo can see of Doyoung’s face from here is his large smile, bright in comparison to the sun beaming behind him. His hair is messy and wavy, and Jungwoo’s heart does a flippy thing that he chooses to ignore.

Jungwoo stands and, for a moment, they’re so close to each other it makes Jungwoo’s skin tingle.

They both take a hasty step backward.

When they get inside, Jungwoo is overwhelmed by the sheer  _ amount  _ of clothing, and he doesn’t even know where to start. Doyoung immediately takes his wrist and drags him to where the racks of sweaters are.

“I haven’t even told you what I had in mind?”

“You didn’t have anything in mind,” Doyoung says casually, separating two sweaters on a rack to take a closer look at a soft-looking peach one.

“...You’re right.”

After much deliberation and an hour of looking through various shirts, sweaters, and jackets, Doyoung settles on the first sweater he had his eye on--the soft peach one with subtle embroidery at the hems. All the while, Doyoung’s gaze shifts consistently between Jungwoo and the clothing, and Jungwoo tries his best not to die from how sweet Doyoung looks.

His hair is soft brown and wavy and Jungwoo wants to touch it so badly, to run his fingers through it and watch Doyoung’s beautiful eyes drift shut, maybe pull his head to rest against his shoulder and just--

Fuck, he’s so fucked. His heart pounds in his chest.

All he can remember when he’s around Doyoung is Doyoung himself. How he looks, his words, his expressions, what he’s thinking. He’s gotten way too many resigned or sympathetic looks from his members when he’s been too distracted by Doyoung during rehearsal and Doyoung never noticed a thing. Jungwoo is, he thinks, a little pathetic when it comes to him.

Even more so when Doyoung tries to surprise him while he’s distracted by his own thoughts by buying the sweater for him.

“No, no, wait,” he tells the cashier, hastily pulling his wallet from his jeans but fumbling when he tries to pull his card out.

“Don’t wait, just use that one,” Doyoung says. His gaze is imploring, and the cashier very slowly raises his hand to swipe the card.

“Doyoung, you can’t just--stop, just hang on--”

Doyoung snatches Jungwoo’s wallet when he nearly drops it in clumsiness and stuffs it in his own pocket. “Swipe it,” he says to the cashier.

The cashier gulps, clearly a little intimidated, and swipes.

(Objectively Jungwoo knows Doyoung can be intimidating sometimes, judging by what other people have said. They would say he has “sharp features” or “scary glaring eyes” or a “resting bitch face,” but Jungwoo has never seen it himself. To him, Doyoung always just looks so...soft.)

Doyoung takes the paper bag the sweater had been stuffed in by the cashier and the moment they walk out of the store, Doyoung turns on his heel and presents it to Jungwoo, arms out straight and bag hanging from his fingertips. “Happy birthday,” he says.

“It’s April,” Jungwoo says.

“Shh,” Doyoung replies, and Jungwoo does. He takes the paper bag, hooking his fingers around the underside of the handle, and their fingers brush briefly as he does it. Jungwoo can’t help the smile that blooms across his face.

Doyoung tilts his head. “What?”

Jungwoo shakes his own. “Nothing.”

Doyoung wraps his left arm around Jungwoo shoulders, leaning up slightly to do it, and says, “Want to go eat?”

And it’s so hard to resist the urge to lean in further. After the week he’s had, Doyoung’s arm around his shoulders sends this warm feeling down through his body, and Jungwoo suddenly feels overwhelmed with emotion. He’s close with his members, but he’s never felt like he could lean on them for anything. He always had this instinct to stray away from burdening them with his problems, his feelings. He’s not the strongest dancer, nor the funniest or the happiest, and he just--he finally feels--

His eyes are watering, and he takes a deep breath in the hopes that it’ll go away before Doyoung notices.

Doyoung just leans in further himself to rest his head on Jungwoo’s shoulder, tightens his arm around him, and says, “You know...you can always call me.”

Fuck, can he read minds?

“Yeah,” Jungwoo says. He sniffles once and straightens. “Yeah, let’s go eat.”

***

The interviewer works for one of the biggest American companies in entertainment currently and has a decent reputation for asking appropriate questions to celebrities, which they’ve found is necessary for a group like themselves, because they’ve had some pretty rough interviews in the past.

When NCT hadn’t gained much popularity yet and so the public didn’t know too much about them, half of their interviewers had been convinced they were a K-pop group and that none of them spoke English. One of them had even told Johnny his “English was phenomenal,” as if Johnny hadn’t grown up in Chicago and the rest of them hadn’t spoken at all during the interview. One of them had showed up with a 60-year-old Korean man to act as a translator, only to realize all ten of them spoke English perfectly well. ( _ That  _ particular interview had been terrible all around--Jungwoo hates remembering the unbelievably tense atmosphere and the subtly racist comments they had gotten both while they were and weren’t there.)

Jungwoo’s glad they seem to have gotten through this phase of shitty interviews. And while he knows he shouldn’t get his hopes up too high, he’s hoping not to have one that terrible again. He’s wearing his peach-colored sweater and he’s sitting next to Doyoung in the back, which essentially means he’s saved from having to speak.

Taeyong, Johnny, and Ten tend to do most of the talking during interviews. Taeyong is the leader, and the other two tend to get the least nervous and flustered during interviews, so the answers often fall on those three.

This interview, however, they seemed determined to give them all time to talk. Jungwoo appreciates it because the fans usually want to see all of them talk, not just three, but Jungwoo also doesn’t appreciate it because it makes him more nervous. And he already gets nervous pretty easily.

For some reason, he’s more nervous than usual today. He presses his hands onto his thighs to stop them from shaking. Doyoung sends him a worried glance as subtly as he can, and Yuta on his right has noticed something is a little off, too.

They start off, as usual, with the basics. “So what does NCT mean?”

Johnny takes it right away. “NCT stands for Neo Culture Technology--Nine-Nine and DREAM helped us come up with it, actually, and what it means to us…”

Jungwoo has heard this countless times before, and so have the fans, but he gets why they keep having to answer it. Johnny has said he feels like he’s repeating the meaning of NCT so much recently that it’s started to mean nothing. 

That’s how Jungwoo feels about everything right now. Like full-length sentences are just jumbles of words that Jungwoo can’t comprehend, like the questions they’re being asked are white noise.

They play a game, are separated into two groups for a game of telephone. Standing up from his seat is like a breath of fresh air, and it comes with brief clarity that he’s unspeakably grateful for.

Besides, while Doyoung is trying to get him to understand what he thinks is just the words  _ Neo Culture Technology _ without hearing, Jungwoo has a completely valid reason to stare at Doyoung’s lips for a solid thirty seconds. It’s a welcome distraction from his shaking hands and the feeling of dread crawling up over his skin.

It’s a terrible time for his anxiety to get so bad.  _ Every  _ time is a terrible time for his anxiety to get so bad.

He turns around to--fuck, Yuta, who also looks worried for him--and tries to relay the words  _ Neo Culture Technology  _ again. He’s absolutely sure Yuta gets it on the first try, but he seems to be taking the opportunity to study Jungwoo’s face. Jungwoo keeps repeating himself anyway.

When the game is over and he sits back down, Yuta and Doyoung both reach behind Jungwoo and pat him on the back at the same time, their hands hitting each other’s in the process. They both look around Jungwoo to the other, startled, and then share a  _ look _ .

Minutes pass, and Jungwoo tries to look zoned in while he calms down. He feels like it works, too, for a while.

He knows, he  _ knows  _ the fans care about them too much not to notice how Jungwoo’s feeling during this interview. It’s live and unedited and the comments are probably already flooding in. He just hopes they won’t look to far into it, won’t worry too much about him. Worse, he worries that some people will say he looks disinterested or stuck up or some other bullshit they’ll try to assume about him when in reality they know nothing about what’s going on in his life or his mind.

All of those worries are dismissed outright when it happens.

Their previous interviewer steps aside for the last segment and a new guy sits down in his place. He has what looks like five or six cards stacked in his right hand when he introduces himself, “Hey guys, I’m Ash. Yesterday we asked for fans to leave questions for you on Twitter, and I have here the lucky fan questions chosen to be asked today.”

_ If you could have a superpower what power would you choose  _ is the first one. The next is  _ What advice would you give to people struggling to make a career in dance.  _ The next one is  _ Who are your favorite recording artists right now. _

Doyoung says Ariana Grande, predictably. Jaehyun says Bruno Mars. Ten says Frank Ocean, because he never fails to take an opportunity to state that he loves Frank Ocean. It seriously comes up twice in any given conversation with Ten.

Ash clears his throat and flips to the next card. “This is from  _ Zina _ , @morkly99, and she says: I heard Jungwoo is being deported--”

Ash immediately stops, and Jungwoo feels terror spike up through his chest. Fuck, how did--how did they--

Doyoung immediately stands up and takes Jungwoo with him, leaving the view of the camera. He feels Yuta follow behind them, and the sounds of his other members and Ash protesting turn fuzzy as Jungwoo struggles to keep walking. He doesn’t know where he’s going, he doesn’t know-- _ how did they find out? _

Doyoung’s hand tights around his own and Yuta’s hand squeezes his shoulder. Jungwoo’s lungs burn as he struggles to take another breath.

They stop eventually, and Jungwoo slides onto his knees, pushing himself away from the other two. “Don’t--don’t touch--”

“We won’t,” Yuta says, and the sounds cuts sharply through Jungwoo’s head as he struggles to force himself to breathe.

His nails rake down his neck and leave burning lines in their wake.

“Jungwoo, please--” Doyoung starts, but Jungwoo doesn’t listen to the rest.

_ How the fuck did they find out?  _


	2. finally trying to be bold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter! so i've realized that tagging this as a The Proposal AU is highly inaccurate because they're nothing alike in any way, but i don't know why i still haven't taken the tag down.
> 
> anyway, enjoy this chapter!! i don't have a beta reader so this may be rough. also i didn't plan anything when i started writing so it also may be a mess. but i like where it ended up maybe?

**stasia** @vocaltae   
_ if i had known jungwoo was an illegal immigrant i wouldn’t have supported nct as much as i did _

**vote for nine-nine!** @markcenters   
_ i know y’all are gonna disagree with me but...jungwoo does not have the upper hand here, illegal immigration doesn’t have excuses?? _

**elisi** @zeusjuus   
_ shocked and disappointed by the amount of republicans in the nct fandom rn _

**mandies** @2003mandy   
_       @zeusjuus anti-illegal immigration does not automatically equal republican? _

**elisi** @zeusjuus   
_             @2003mandy since when bitch? um yes it does _

**ari** @tenooten   
_ highkey sad @morkly99 deleted their account. i wanna know where they heard about jungwoo being deported. like spill the tea sis _

**Liza** @diehardelizabeth   
_ #/jungwoodep*rted is trending no.1 in the US right now and I’ve never been sadder. _

**vote for 99 or else** @skaterhendery   
_ props to jungwoo for giving his antis a valid reason to hate him now. like i always thought they were being irrational but now i see it _

**jalen** @0renjunie   
_ i don’t care what you think about immigration. the fact is that jungwoo’s struggle with it is NOT OUR BUSINESS. he deserves enough privacy to deal with these things without all of america stating their opinions on it!!!!! _

**jaehyun’s girl** @mywilltolive   
_       @0renjunie he’s famous he knows what he’s getting into _

**jalen** @renjunie   
_             @mywilltolive your sense of morality is really fucked. jungwoo doesn’t deserve this just because he’s good at dancing _

***

Jungwoo remembers what it was like leaving Korea for university without his family after he graduated. They had all been in tears--even his older sister, who would never admit to having any fond feelings for Jungwoo in any other situation. His parents had trouble letting go of him before he got on the plane--they had hugged, all four of them, for several minutes straight. His mom couldn’t stop herself from giving him advice, telling him to be safe, telling him to call every day to check in no matter what time it was in Korea. And Jungwoo had tried to be strong for them. He tried to say he would be okay, that he knows how to take care of himself and they don’t need to worry.

And while it wasn’t exactly a lie, Jungwoo is a family person. He struggled for years after arriving in the US with not being able to see his family or hug them or tell them at the end of the day what happened at school or work.

Because the thing is, Jungwoo didn’t  _ have  _ to leave. He had applied to one of the best performing arts universities in the US on a whim (unpleasantly surprised at how expensive even just  _ applying  _ to it was), but months later he found out he had been accepted  _ and  _ that they had offered him a hefty scholarship based on both his grades so far and his dancing portfolio. Even with nearly two entire years left of school in Korea before he graduated, the thought of university life there had just felt so  _ right _ . It took him a long time to decide if he was going for sure. Even when he was already in the US it took him a while to stop regretting his decision to leave.

(He had thought he was good at English based on how well he did in classes in Korea, but  _ being  _ in America and having to speak and understand English  _ every single day _ , he found out, was a different matter entirely.)

Taking all of this into consideration, Jungwoo feels small. He feels like he’s been reduced to his accidental status as an “illegal immigrant.” Scrolling through Twitter had been the worst decision he had made this year so far.

After everything he struggled with: moving here, learning English, getting a job, endless hours-long rehearsals, his anxiety, keeping up his grades so as not to lose his scholarship, his sexuality, missing his family, his food, his  _ language _ . Right now, it feels worthless. Like no matter how hard he tries, because of this mistake, nobody will think of him as anything but  _ alien _ .

After definitely more than 48 hours of not getting out of bed and not letting his friends see him and not answering their calls or texts and--fuck--someone knocks on his door. Again.

Before, Jungwoo had ignored them. Jungwoo feels immensely guilty for not letting them see him, but the thought of speaking to them or having them see him like this had made him sick. Jungwoo had told Doyoung  _ leave me alone _ after Doyoung had brought him back to his apartment, and he hadn’t turned around to see the look on Doyoung’s face before he left. He knows it’s not the worst thing he could have said, but for someone like Jungwoo who’s always tried to be nice even to people who haven’t earned his kindness, the thought of how Doyoung must have felt makes his stomach churn.

After waking up this morning he hasn’t felt as bad as the past two days, but he still isn’t ready. So he does what he did the last six times someone knocked at his door--he stays quiet and doesn’t move.

Until--  _ ”Hyung.” _

And  _ fuck _ . The sound of Jeno’s voice makes him tear up all over again.

Jeno had been born in the US, but his mother had gotten a job opportunity in Seoul that she couldn’t refuse, so Jeno had been raised in Korea with dual citizenship his whole life. Eighteen years later, he had gotten quite well-known on YouTube for his dancing videos. After getting an opportunity to study dance in Chicago with a huge scholarship and an unwavering invitation to join DREAM (more than a year after it was formed), he had somewhat impulsively packed his things and moved back to the US.

Jungwoo, other than the accent he still has when he speaks English that sometimes (rarely now) makes it hard for others to understand him, no longer struggles with communicating on a daily basis. Jeno, however, still sounds like he’s reading English words in Hangul when he speaks.

(Jeno had told Jungwoo once that English was his worst class in school. That the pronunciations and the grammar structure made absolutely no sense to him even when it seemed to be fine for his classmates. The irony that Jeno was the one out of all of them to move to the US had struck Jungwoo, at the time, as a little amusing.)

Jungwoo loves Jeno like the little brother he never had. He would protect him with his life.

_ “Jeno-yah,” _ he says, and it’s raspy and broken and the first time he’s spoken since the night he got out of Doyoung’s car.

Jeno pauses, surprise palpable through the solid wood of his door.  _ “Can I come in?” _

Jungwoo closes his eyes. The last person he wants seeing him like this is Jeno, his  _ dongsaeng  _ who looks up to him. He hasn’t showered or even left his bed in days. His stomach is churning with hunger and yet he hasn’t had the energy to move to his fridge or his tiny pantry twelve feet away.

Still, almost against his own will, Jungwoo opens his mouth and says, “Yeah.”

Jeno has a key to his apartment--as do Doyoung, Kun, and himself.

(Kun is the most sensible person he knows, and he trusts Doyoung and Jeno more than he trusts himself.)

There’s the sound of the key being slid into his lock and turned, and then Jeno opens the door as softly as he can. Jungwoo opens his eyes again.

His hair is fluffy and his face is bare, and he’s holding two bags of what looks to be takeout, key still between his fingers. Neither of them speak as he closes the door and locks it behind him, nor as he comes toward Jungwoo’s bed and sets the bags softly down on the floor next to it. Jeno crouches down next to him and sits on the floor, arms around his legs.

_ “Doyoung-hyung is really worried about you,”  _ is what he says first.

Jungwoo, craving affection but too nervous to ask for it, let’s his hand drop over the side of the bed and brush the rug by Jeno’s legs. Jeno, without question, takes his hand silently. And fuck, it feels nice--it’s such a small gesture but he feels cared for. Marginally more content than he had been two seconds ago.

_ “I’m sorry,”  _ is what Jungwoo can force out of his mouth. He feels constantly on the verge of tears, and his throat feels clogged.

Jeno tilts his head, eyes large and sad--the opposite of the crescents Jungwoo is used to seeing.  _ “You have nothing to be sorry for,” _ Jeno says.  _ “None of this is your fault.” _

Jungwoo shakes his head.  _ “For being so...for being--” _

_ “Upset?”  _ Jeno squeezes his hand.  _ “Everyone understa--” _

_ “Mean,”  _ Jungwoo corrects him. The thought of ignoring his friends, his family’s calls and texts, rejecting them when they had come over to his apartment to see him, of telling Doyoung  _ leave me alone _ when Doyoung had only been trying to comfort him--Jungwoo feels so  _ guilty _ and he can’t stand the thought of everyone feeling hurt or sad because of him.

_ “What?”  _ Jeno’s eyes squint, but he seems to realize something.  _ “They would never hold wanting to be alone against you. Of course they don’t think you’re being rude.” _

Jungwoo feels a tear slip from his eye. He sniffles.  _ “I know, I guess I just...I don’t feel right.” _

Jeno squeezes harder.  _ “Jungwoo-hyung...I came because I know you. I know you needed food. But I mostly know that you need people. I can’t imagine how you feel--” _

He can, better than most people Jungwoo knows.

_ “--but I know that whatever it is, you need someone here to help you through it. You’ve never been one to stay alone for too long.” _

He’s right. While Jungwoo tends to keep his feelings to himself, being around other people has always made him feel nice--much more than being alone. He’s constantly touching other people, hugging them, giving them kisses on their cheeks, leaning his head on their shoulders (even though he’s taller than most of the people he knows). Jungwoo never goes long without it.

Jungwoo sighs.

_ “I’ve been talking to Doyoung-hyung...when you told him to leave him alone he took it seriously. That’s the only reason he hasn’t called or showed up. He told me to come and to bring food because he said he knew you probably wouldn’t have eaten. He said he didn’t want to intrude by coming himself.” _

Fondness settles in Jungwoo’s heart like an ache. He suddenly longs for Doyoung to be here himself, but he’s still not sure if he wants to see anyone. Or anyone  _ else _ . Jungwoo needs time to convince himself he’s more than just his situation before he can get up again and be a proper person.

As if Jeno heard his thoughts, he switches topics and says,  _ “I know what people are saying on the internet. Just remember they only think they know you. What matters is the people close to you, not them.” _

Jungwoo has had his fair share of antis in the past and knows, logically, that most of the people who supported him in the first place wouldn’t change their minds just because of this. But still, the thought of people judging him for  _ this _ \--something he had tried his  _ absolute best  _ to prevent--made him feel low.

_ “I know it shouldn’t matter,”  _ Jungwoo says. He thinks of all the negative comments he’d gotten in the past that had barely affected him, and wonders why this has to be so different.  _ “But it still hurts.” _

Jeno presses his lips together and moves to rest his head on his knee. His thumb strokes over Jungwoo’s index finger.  _ “I’m sorry it hurts. We’re all here for you when you’re ready.” _

He knows it’s the truth. He may not feel ready right at this moment, but he wants to see them again soon. All of them. Especially Doyoung.

Jeno must see the shift in Jungwoo’s mood.  _ “You ready to eat?” _

Jungwoo’s eyes flicker down to the two bags of takeout Jeno brought. The smell alone makes his stomach rumble.

Jeno squeezes his hand once more. Jungwoo finally squeezes back.

“Yeah,” Jungwoo says in English. “Let’s eat.”

***

The next day, Jungwoo wakes up feeling better but not great. His eyes had flicked up to his calender the previous night and he realized NCT had a preliminary competition in two weeks, so despite his feelings of tiredness he felt as though he couldn’t afford to miss any more rehearsals.

He finally showers but skips breakfast after looking through his sad pantry. Getting dressed feels like a chore. When he sits down on his bed to lace his shoes, he’s almost tempted to not get up again. To just lie down and let himself sleep for one more day.

He shoots Taeyong a brief text saying he’ll be there for rehearsal. He waits until he gets a response--a sweet  _ see you then  _ with a lime green heart--before getting up off his bed and actually leaving his apartment.

He’s wearing a cap and a big hoodie because he’s paranoid and he doesn’t want to risk being stopped by a fan on his way there. It didn’t happen all that often before, but with everything that’s gone down on the internet--his trending hashtag on Twitter and the countless articles from gossip sites published about him in the past three days--he doesn’t much feel like taking chances.

And of course, the moment he steps into the studio his eyes are drawn to Doyoung. His hair is messier than usual and he looks a little weary, lips downturned. He’s wearing baggy clothes, which he has a habit of doing when he’s feeling upset or down.

Doyoung doesn’t notice him at first, but the moment he looks up and spots him through the mirror, his sharp eyes and downturned lips become softer, lighter. Jungwoo feels relief that Doyoung is happy to see him. A part of him had feared otherwise.

Several of the members exclaim “Jungwoo!” when they notice him. Taeil immediately crosses the room to give him a hug.

Jungwoo leans into him, arms wrapping tightly around his back. He surprises himself by jokingly turning his head and pressing a kiss to Taeil’s cheek--one which Taeil takes without complaint, completely used to it.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Taeil says to him softly. “I’m sorry about everything.”

Jungwoo pulls away, exhaling. “There’s nothing I can do.”

Jungwoo looks down, pulling at his sleeves. His members have approached him, gathered in a semicircle and he suddenly feels shy. “I’m here to dance, I guess. I know we have some things coming up and I--I already feel bad for missing so many rehearsals.”

Taeyong immediately shakes his head, stepping forward. “You’ve only missed two, Jungwoo. It’s okay that you had to take a break.”

Jungwoo nods but it doesn’t really do much to ease the guilt. In the silence, he takes a second to look around. They all look sweet or sad and he loves them so much that he feels bad for being the reason so many of them look so down. But he notices one thing--Yuta is missing from where he’s usually hovering next to Sicheng. “Where’s Yuta?”

A few of them chuckle. “He’s getting coffee for us,” Kun answers.

Jungwoo remembers his own disaster of a coffee run merely a week ago that had been at the fault of Yuta and smirks. “Nice. Anything for me?”

“Of course,” Taeyong says. “He left after you texted and told us you were coming.”

There’s barely a moment of silence before Ten claps his hands together and says, “So, shall we get started? Again?”

Halfway through stretching Yuta comes back with ten coffees in hand(s and arms) and gives an enthusiastic hug to Jungwoo. Another half hour later Doyoung and Jaehyun are catching Jungwoo up on some tweaks they had made to the choreography of  _ Superhuman _ in the past couple of rehearsals, nothing that Jungwoo can’t pick up in ten or fifteen minutes.

And the more he dances, the more he forgets about his issues--the public arguing whether he deserves to stay, whether he’s a good person, whether the accusation had been the truth or a lie. Jungwoo sweats and his heart races and it’s at times like these that he knows he made the right decision when he came to the US to pursue this career. Dancing is consuming and immersive and he expresses himself better with his body than he ever could with his own voice.

Jungwoo kneels to his starting position in  _ Superhuman _ , and as Johnny leans over to press play on the stereo and the beat starts up, he can feel it vibrate through the polished wooden floors and up through his fingertips.

Suddenly, for the first time since--well, since he left Korea, really--he feels like he can take on anything. He wants to stand up for himself, he wants to let people know he deserves to be where he is today. And he wants to empower people who are in the same position as him.

He wants a win. A win for himself, for his team, his family.

***

“You know,” Doyoung says a week later.

Him and Jungwoo are out for breakfast at a local restaurant, six days out from their upcoming preliminary competition and nine days out from their first collaboration rehearsal with Nine-Nine and DREAM. While Jungwoo hasn’t really said anything to the public yet about his situation, he’s been more confident in his everyday actions and his friends have noticed. He’s even the one who asked Doyoung out to breakfast.

(Not that this is all that unusual. In fact, despite his sudden declaration to be bold a week ago, he still hasn’t really done most of the things he knows will take a lot of boldness. Like addressing the public. Or finally asking Doyoung out. Or, in fact, telling his family he’s gay. Because they still don’t fucking know.)

What matters is that he  _ feels  _ so much better in his own skin than he has in a while.

“Hmm?” Jungwoo responds around a bite of oatmeal.

“If you get married to a US citizen you can stay here,” Doyoung says casually. His eyes stray down to his own fingers, where he’s picking nervously at his food, but his face stays calm and confident. “I’ll marry you if you need to.”

Jungwoo chokes on his oatmeal so hard that his inhales wheeze and he needs to take several gulps of water. “What?”

“Like that movie my mom and her neighborhood friends couldn’t stop watching in like 2010 or something,” Doyoung continues. 

Jungwoo has absolutely no idea what movie he’s talking about but his mind is stuck on one thing. “You could get  _ arrested  _ if they catch us getting married just for a green card.”

Doyoung quirks one side of his lips, dropping his food back onto his plate. “I’d risk it for you.”

Jungwoo feels something squeeze in his chest and heat crawls up his neck and face. It’s moments like these when Jungwoo is convinced Doyoung likes him too, but he’s still so afraid of rejection that he never has the courage to just fucking ask like a functional human being.

“I wouldn’t let you,” Jungwoo replies.

“Marry you?” Doyoung replies, putting a hand on his chest and pretending to be offended.

“Get arrested,” Jungwoo corrects.

There’s an unspoken  _ so you would let me marry you?  _ written on Doyoung’s face that Jungwoo is careful not to deny. Not that he’s thinking about marriage, particularly. He just doesn’t want to seem uninterested because he’s anything but.

They let silence fall and Jungwoo watches as Doyoung eats what he can of the rest of his food. He traces the lines of his face, of his pretty eyes and his slightly tousled hair. The way he seems to only chew on one side of his mouth and the way he licks his lips after taking a drink.

Yeah, Jungwoo really likes him. Sometimes so much it hurts a little.

If he ever comes out to his parents he hopes he’s dating Doyoung when he does it. 

(He’s polite and also Korean. Jungwoo’s hoping it would be one point in the good books for his parents, at the very least.)

But he’s getting ahead of himself--if he’s ever going to be able to do that, he has to work up the courage to ask Doyoung out first.

And--holy shit.

“Hey,” Jungwoo says, and his throat immediately closes up. Nerves shoot up through his chest so quickly when Doyoung looks up from his plate.

“Hey,” Doyoung says, setting his fork down.

_ I did not think this through. How do I say this? How do I phrase it? _

_ Would you like to get dinner with me sometime?  _ Fuck, that’s too vague, it’s almost exactly how he had asked him out to breakfast yesterday.  _ Do you want to go on a date with me?  _ Is that too direct? Too bold? What if Doyoung says no?  _ Do you maybe want to perhaps go out with me to dinner possibly just the two of us like sort of a date?  _ Part of Jungwoo’s mind thinks adding a ton of qualifiers will lessen the directness of the question but still get his point across.

Who is he kidding, he would sound fucking ridiculous.

His confidence shrinks and he clears his throat, backing out. “I--um--thank you,” he says instead, stuttering.

Doyoung’s eyebrows furrow and he tilts his head and it’s  _ fucking adorable oh my god he looks so cute it’s like a confused bunny or something else equally as cute why can’t Jungwoo just stop being a coward and-- _ “What for?” Doyoung asks.

Jungwoo quickly cuts off the frustrated rant in his head. “For, um, helping me. And for forgiving me for ignoring you so quickly. I know I wasn’t--”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Doyoung interrupts. “I don’t mind that you needed space, we all deal with things in different ways. I never blamed you for needing to figure things out on your own.”

Jungwoo’s heart aches for Doyoung and he thinks it’s not entirely the truth. Of course Jungwoo doesn’t think Doyoung ever blamed him; Jungwoo thinks it’s not the truth that he needed space to figure things out. He didn’t figure anything out in the two days he had spent in isolation; he just has a habit of pushing away people when he feels vulnerable. Without Jeno showing up at his apartment, Jungwoo’s not sure how he would have managed to get out of the cycle of bleak tweets and horrible articles about him on Google he had been stuck in.

For some reason this is something Jungwoo feels like he can say. He’s sick of not being able to lean on people for support--or, better phrased, he’s sick of not  _ letting himself  _ lean on other people for support.

It’s lonely, and it’s tiring.

“I don’t think I needed time,” Jungwoo confesses. His eyes suddenly sting, and he briefly feels guilty for bringing the mood of breakfast down so much. “I just think I--I felt like I couldn’t...I felt like I couldn’t let you all see me like that. I think I have trouble being…”  _ Fuck, what’s the English word for vulnerable?  _ Weak? Afraid? “...vulnerable? Around people.”

Doyoung’s eyes look glossy, and Jungwoo looks back down at his food to keep himself from crying. Jungwoo is a sympathetic crier, and already feeling like he’s going to cry himself doesn’t help the situation.

“Jungwoo, you know that we’re always going to be here. We’re never going to judge you for ever being afraid or sad or--or anything. We love you too much for that. I...I love you too much for that. You can talk to me any time.”

And although this isn’t what the conversation is about, Jungwoo hears the words  _ I love you too much I love you too much I love you too much  _ over and over in his head.

Jungwoo drops his head and feels a smile form. “Thank you,” he says again.

Doyoung breathes out heavily through his nose, almost like a laugh, and smiles too. “Don’t thank me,” he repeats. “It’s just the truth.”

Jungwoo leans forward and finishes his breakfast.

Although he didn’t accomplish what he set out to do, he still feels as though he’s taken a step forward.

***

They take  _ Superhuman _ ,  _ Talk _ , and Ten’s choreography to  _ Taki Taki  _ to their preliminary competition and win practically by a landslide. 

_ Talk _ had been a challenge for them, a different genre than their usual and a song lacking a natural climax. They had had to create a climax through their choreography and portray the story of the song without too much help from the energy of the song itself.

Judging by the audience and even the people waiting to perform after them backstage, they had done it well. Jungwoo--and clearly the rest of NCT as well--was relieved at the positive reaction. They had all feared it would end up being a boring dance but they had tried their best to live up to the challenge. 

Winning feels good, and it’s a check off the list of objective wins Jungwoo has been holding in his head since his first rehearsal back a couple weeks ago.

Winning also means a whole lot of attention from local media and other dance crews. Attention Jungwoo is still, he admits, a little weary of.

However, the excitement about their upcoming collaboration seems to have overshadowed the local media’s concerns about Jungwoo.

“Can you tell us anything about your collab with Nine-Nine and DREAM!” There’s no question mark at the end, just enthusiasm.

“Yeah, gladly!” Johnny answers. “Fortunately most of us throughout our three crews have been really close to each other for a while, so I don’t really know why we didn’t collaborate sooner. But we’re super excited for everyone to see what we end up bringing to the table!”

The interviewer smiles, blonde bangs falling into her eyes as she jumps a little in place. “Is there any way you could give us a hint at what you have in store? Maybe just a little teaser?”

Johnny chuckles good naturedly. “We haven’t even had our first rehearsal together yet! We don’t even know! All I can really tell you is that we’ll be choreographing three routines for you guys to see. As for what they are and their concepts...I guess we’ll all just have to wait.”

The interviewer laughs wholeheartedly. “I guess we’re all looking forward to it then! Have a nice night everyone! You were amazing today!”

They all yell  _ thank you! _ back and Jungwoo suppresses the impulse to bow at her as they walk away.

“Have you talked to Mark recently?” Jungwoo hears Ten ask Johnny as they make their way to the nearby parking garage. 

“Yeah, this morning. He was saying that him and Dejun are going to--”

Jungwoo would’ve tuned into the rest of the conversation if his phone hadn’t vibrated from somewhere deep inside his bag. He struggles with one hand to unzip it and dig through his clothes and snacks to find where the source of the vibration is coming from. After a few seconds he pulls it out, and the caller ID--

_ Mr. Williams, IO _

Holy shit. It’s been a while since Jungwoo had talked to him. He’d felt like a sitting duck just waiting for any news while he couldn’t do anything about his status as an immigrant.

“Hello?” he says as he brings the phone to his ear.

“Hi, Jungwoo. I have some news for you.”

He can’t decipher Mr. Williams’ tone and it makes him really fucking nervous. “Uh, okay. What is it?”

A few of the members are looking over at him concernedly but Jungwoo tries to ignore them. Especially Doyoung’s softly concerned gaze.

“So, I’ve just been contacted by Immigrations--you should’ve been, too, quite recently if you check your emails. They’re saying that it was your responsibility to follow up after Immigrations didn’t contact you in the three to five months they said they would.”

_ What. _

Jungwoo stops dead in the middle of the driveway of the parking garage. “Are you serious?”

A hefty sigh crackles through his phone receiver. “Unfortunately.”

The thing is, Immigrations makes Jungwoo nervous--just like any sane fucking immigrant coming to the US. When they hadn’t contacted Jungwoo within the five months they said they would, Jungwoo hadn’t said anything about it because he didn’t want to seem like he was pushing or rushing anything. The people working under Immigrations tend not to be very nice, and they tend to treat the Immigrants they come into contact with like they’re idiots. So Jungwoo had stepped back and tried to avoid getting scolded for being impatient or something.

God, he wishes he would’ve followed up now. Maybe if Immigrations were any fucking  _ nicer  _ he would have. And now here he is.

“I do have good news, though,” Mr. Williams says a few seconds later. “Your deportation status is now pending instead of definite.”

_ What the fuck.  _ So what does Immigrations think? That he’s irresponsible or that he’s actually doing his best? He doesn’t know what kind of message to receive from them right now.

“Oh...I guess that’s good.”

“Jungwoo, I know it doesn’t seem like it, but this is really good news. Immigrations doesn’t have a habit of changing their minds, so the switch to  _ pending  _ is a huge step forward for your case right now.”

Jungwoo vaguely notices how Mr. Williams has switched from calling him  _ Mr. Kim _ to just his name and it actually feels nice. Not for the first time, he feels lucky to have been assigned Mr. Williams.

He clears his throat. “I, uh. I see what you mean. You’re--you’re right.”

“Indeed,” Mr. Williams says. “Now we just have to wait again. If we don’t get your new Visa or any news otherwise by the end of May, though, I would highly recommend making arrangements to go back to South Korea at least temporarily.”

This is something Jungwoo already knows, but it still stings. Sure, he would love to go back to Korea and see his family and be able to speak Korean with other people regularly, but not for this reason. He would want it to be because he chose to, not because of his circumstances.

“But listen, while I’m your officer, you  _ will  _ get your Visa one way or another. And soon. I know you did your best, and despite how it feels, Immigrations isn’t out for blood. They just want to follow the law.”

Jungwoo exhales shakily. Mr. Williams’ southern-accented voice had become more comforting than scary over the course of everything that’s happened. “Thank you,” he says, and he really means it. “I understand.”

“Alright,” his officer says. “Read the email yourself, too. I’ll call you again if anything changes.”

“Thank you,” Jungwoo repeats. “Have a nice day--night.”

“You too, Jungwoo,” he says, and he hangs up.

Jungwoo sees his phone switch from the call screen to his lockscreen out of the corner of his eye. He takes a second before he brings the phone down from his face.

“Is everything okay?” Taeil asks from his right.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, it wasn’t terrible.”

“Good,” Doyoung says from his left. He rests a hand on Jungwoo’s shoulder. “We decided on Korean food for tonight. Sound good?”

Jungwoo feels a spark of excitement--he knows which restaurant they mean and it’s one of his favorite places in their area of Chicago. He knows the restaurant’s owners quite well too--they had taken to him because of his perfect Korean, and he had taken to them because they reminded him of home. Although they were wildly different from his own parents, it still felt nice.

“Sounds great,” Jungwoo says. “Let’s go.”

***

A blessedly comforting dinner with Imo and a few days later, it’s time for their first rehearsal with Nine-Nine and DREAM.

NCT and Nine-Nine came together to rent out a bigger studio than any of them have regular rehearsals in. NCT is the biggest group out of all of them, and twenty-one people is a lot more than ten. So Jungwoo and his members find themselves a few miles east of their normal studio when they get out of their respective cars.

When Jungwoo walks in, bag in tow equipped with water, snacks, and backup clothes, all of Nine-Nine plus Johnny, Ten, Taeil, and Taeyong are already there.

“What’s up!” Mark says excitedly. He comes over to give Jungwoo a hand-clap back-slap bro handshake, and then watches, embarrassed, as the rest of the Nine-Nine members just give him a normal hug.

Especially Lucas. Lucas’s hug swallows Jungwoo and Jungwoo gladly accepts it.

“Is everyone going to be able to make it today?” Jungwoo asks when Lucas lets him go. With twenty-one people, the likelihood that all of their work, school, and personal schedules would work out perfectly at the same time is low. Even knowing several weeks in advance when to take off or free up the day doesn’t have a high chance of working out for so many people.

Taeyong shakes his head. “Renjun texted letting me know that Chenle woke up with a fever this morning, so he won’t be able to make it.”

“Oh,” Jungwoo says, worried. “Is he going to be home alone all day?”

“Renjun said Chenle insisted he didn’t miss the first rehearsal as well. He says Chenle’s planning on taking fever medicine and sleeping anyway.”

Jungwoo quickly looks down and sends a text to Chenle that says  _ feel better  _ with a red heart emoji as he asks, “So it’s going to be twenty of us then?”

Taeyong nods. “Yeah, twenty. Pretty good isn’t it?”

As Taeyong speaks, three more people walk in through the door. Fifteen minutes later when all twenty of them are finally at the studio ready to get started, Jungwoo finds himself on the left side of Doyoung, who has both his arms hugged around Jeno, his notoriously favorite member of DREAM.

They’re sitting on the floor again in a much bigger circle than he’s used to. Taeyong, the unofficial leader for this supergroup, leans forward and catches everyone’s attention.

“So, we have to come up with three songs under three different concepts before we can even get started with choreographing routines. All we’ll likely do today is throw around song and concept suggestions. Don’t worry about sounding stupid, nobody here is going to judge you. Let’s get started.”

Jungwoo takes a deep breath. Before, he thinks he never would have spoken up with his ideas in front of just NCT, never mind all of the nineteen people here. But he feels open and emboldened, and for once he feels like this is where he belongs.

“I have an idea for a harder, more intense concept?” Jungwoo speaks up.

He sees several nods.

“So...you know that song Black on Black? I was thinking…”

And he explains it to them. The concept of all wearing black, the message of being unique and powerful but still feeling a sense of belonging. He watches as several people write down almost every word he says and feels happiness drape itself over him like a blanket in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“Woah, Jungwoo, that’s so cool. I can’t wait to start that!” Lucas says from across the circle.

“We haven’t even agreed on it yet though--” Jungwoo starts to say, but several people pipe up with  _ come on  _ or  _ I mean… _ or notably from Yuta  _ don’t be modest, bitch, that was a good concept _ .

“I have another idea!” Ten pipes up. “For a slower, more modern concept--since we’re all primarily hip hop groups, right?--how about Frank Ocean’s  _ White Ferrari _ \--”

A couple of groans from NCT.

“Of course you would suggest Frank Ocean--”

“You’re just saying that because you like Frank Ocean--”

“Don’t bring your Frank Ocean obsession into--”

Ten frantically waves his hands in front of him to stop the protests. “No, I’m serious! If you listened to the song, it has such a specific vibe! And it would be a challenge for most of us because we don’t train a lot in styles other than hip hop!  _ White Ferrari _ is the perfect choice because…”

Ten talks for a long time and the rest of the meeting goes on for even longer. Jungwoo ends up with his head on Doyoung’s shoulder while Doyoung moves from having both his arms around Jeno to one arm around each of them. Doyoung’s fingers scratch comfortingly on Jungwoo’s back and holy shit he didn’t think he could be more in love and yet here he is--

Near the end, while several of the members are polishing up their song/concept lists he sees that Jeno and Doyoung are suspiciously texting each other in Korean on their phones, Doyoung clearly trying to tilt his phone away from Jungwoo so that he can’t see the screen. Jungwoo resists the urge to eavesdrop further despite the blatant avoidance making him even more curious.

Doyoung is strangely quiet while they’re packing up and Jeno is sending him stern looks from across the room which Doyoung is openly ignoring.

Jungwoo makes sure to hug as many people as he can before they all leave. He greets them all goodbye with a smile and they do the same to him and it feels amazing. He honestly just--despite whatever’s going on with Doyoung and Jeno (although it doesn’t seem to be anything bad), he feels amazing.

It’s nice.

Just as he’s heading out the door himself, ready to go home and take a shower and maybe just lie in bed for a bit, he runs bodily into Doyoung who’s standing right in the entrance.

“Oh shit--I’m sorry, are you--”

“Jungwoo! I--Can I talk to you for a second?”

Jungwoo’s pointless brushing on Doyoung’s shoulders and stuttering of apologies comes to a halt. “Uh, yeah, of course,” he says, shocked. “What do you need?”

Doyoung softly takes his forearm and leads him away from the middle of the door--there were like eight people still inside, after all. Jungwoo feels concerned even though he doesn’t feel like anything terrible is about to happen; he’s just a nervous person and the vagueness of the situation worries him a little.

When Doyoung turns around though, there’s a red blush splotched across his cheeks and he looks adorably tentative. It’s something that Jungwoo has never seen on Doyoung before and it’s so fucking cute in makes Jungwoo want to look away.

He doesn’t, though, he just waits.

“Would you--” Doyoung stops, presses his lips together, and inhales. “Would you like to go out with me?”

And okay, Jungwoo’s not an idiot. He knows Doyoung means on a date--why else would he pull Jungwoo aside alone like this and look so nervous instead of just texting him? The thing is, though, Jungwoo is struggling to really  _ believe _ it.

“Like...on a date?” Doyoung continues, and--holy fuck--

Jungwoo briefly feels minutely and irrationally annoyed that he didn’t work up the courage to ask Doyoung before Doyoung asked him--but  _ holy shit Doyoung is asking him and that means Doyoung likes him too oh my god-- _

“Really?” Jungwoo says and it’s the wrong thing to say but he has to be sure.

“Really,” Doyoung says. He looks so hopeful, eyes bright as he looks up at Jungwoo standing in front of him.

Jungwoo feels a blush crawl up his neck and to his cheeks, too. “Of--I--Of course. Yeah. Of course.”

The smile Doyoung sends him is blinding and Jungwoo has never regretted anything less.

**Author's Note:**

> in Jungwoo's group, the first in the US and called NCT are:  
> Taeil  
> Johnny  
> Taeyong  
> Yuta  
> Kun  
> Doyoung  
> Ten  
> Jaehyun  
> Sicheng  
> Jungwoo  
> don't worry, though; ot21 all still know each other and are great friends. there are two more dance crews:  
> one which is well-known throughout the midwest, called Nine-Nine:  
> Lucas  
> Mark  
> Xiaojun  
> Hendery  
> and the last one, very popular in the dancing community and very successful in their age category, called DREAM is:  
> Renjun  
> Jeno  
> Haechan  
> Jaemin  
> Yangyang  
> Chenle  
> Jisung


End file.
